Deck the Halls
by Charlotte88
Summary: Part of the '25 Days of Fic' challenge. One Christmas prompt word for every day of Advent. "It's just his usual 'it's Christmas, an excuse to try and force Harry and Nikki to come to their senses' type shenanigans."
1. Mistletoe

_So there was a thing going around on Tumblr called '25 Days of Fic', and it offered a Christmas-themed prompt word for every day from now until Christmas, with the challenge that each fic had to be under 1000 words. So I thought why the hell not? Now, you know what I'm like when it comes to updating multi-chaps, but I promise to try my hardest to give you a new one each day. I've already written the first six, so that's a good start, right? _**  
**

_Just a little FYI: Harry and Nikki are already a couple. Just because I wanted these fics to be fluffy and happy for a change. And they're not necessarily in strict chronological order from here on in, but they do all take place around the same Christmas. And the rating is for later chapters where there may or may not be some suggestive themes and/or naughty words._

_I think that's everything._

* * *

**Mistletoe:**

"You know what Leo's doing, don't you?"

Nikki glances up from her computer screen. "Hmm?"

"Leo. He's ... scheming," Harry informs her, and then points to the ceiling near the door of the office. Her eyes follow his finger and land on a sprig of mistletoe tacked to the tiles.

"Oh my god," she breathes, sharing a wide-eyed look with him. "You think that's for our benefit?"

"Nikki, every year it has been for our benefit. And every year we have successfully managed to avoid it."

"Well, I guess this year we beat him to it," she remarks lightly, watching as his lips curl into a smirk. "Unless... Wait - you don't think he knows about us and is trying to catch us out?"

His grin vanishes. "No. No, he can't know. We have been nothing if not discreet. It's just his usual 'it's Christmas, an excuse to try and force Harry and Nikki to come to their senses' type shenanigans."

She swallows the memory that he unwittingly evokes with his words (after all, Leo and Leo alone was the only witness to her confession), and wonders whether this really is all just a bit of fun for Leo - maybe, after Hungary, it's become a little more to him than an annual jape. She feels a lump in her throat and a sudden rush of affection for her boss.

Getting to her feet and glancing around to make sure they really are the only ones in the office, she comes to rest against the edge of Harry's desk beside him.

"Are we doing the right thing? Keeping it a secret from him?" she asks quietly.

He frowns. "It was your idea."

"I know, I know. Just ... he really cares about us. And I'm sure he'd be on our side."

Harry opens his mouth to reply but, of course, a lab tech chooses that exact moment to walk in and set up camp at the nearby mass spectrometer. Instead, he plucks a seemingly random folder from his desk and says, "Doctor Alexander, may I get your opinion on the John Doe that came in yesterday?" He stands up, nodding his head towards the morgue.

"Of course," she answers just as nonchalantly, struggling to conceal a grin as she follows him through the building. They stop when they reach the locker room, which is, mercifully, deserted.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" he asks, and it's as if their conversation was never interrupted.

"I don't know. I just feel like, if I was in his shoes, I would want to know. Besides, it will put an end to all his 'shenanigans', as you so quaintly put it."

He thinks for a moment, before his eyes fix on something behind her head and his brows contract. "Okay, seriously? It's only November!"

Turning on the spot, she once again follows his gaze, and once again she's met with more mistletoe, this time pinned directly above Harry's locker. "That is," he splutters, "quite frankly a little insulting in its lack of subtlety. He could at least put it in the middle of the room."

She giggles, taking his hand and leading him around the benches until they're stood underneath it. "Rude," he mutters, his neck craned as he stares at it, but he smiles when he lowers his head and finds his face an inch away from hers. "I didn't know you were one for tradition," he teases, his hands finding her hips.

"Oh, you know me. Any excuse to sexually harass you in the workplace," she grins.

"Hey, no complaints here," he smirks, before lowering his lips to meet hers.

Nearly a month they've been seeing each other now, and she doesn't think she will ever get used to kissing him. Whether it's sweet and slow like this one, or fiery and intense like their first one, it still manages to make Nikki feel the same way; dizzy and breathless, with her vision blurred and, sometimes, she could swear she sees stars.

Her arms coil around his neck, one hand coming to rest in his short hair, the other playing with the neck of his t-shirt. She moans softly when his fingers slip under her top and dance lightly over the small of her back.

They break apart of this point, before either of them get too carried away (because that's happened before, and she still has the imprint of her locker door bruised on her back). Resting his forehead against hers, he breathes, "Okay, we'll tell Leo."

"Really?" Her hand comes to his face, her thumb tracing his cheekbone.

"Yes, really, if you're sure that's what you want. He mentioned something about a meal tonight, didn't he? Well, let's do that and tell him then."

"He will be on our side, won't he?" she asks, suddenly inexplicably nervous about telling their boss.

Twisting his head sideways, he presses his lips briefly to the palm of her hand. "Yes. I'm pretty sure he's been rooting for us for years." He drops another quick kiss to her lips, then takes a step back. "Come on, before he gets suspicious."

And so later that night they do tell Leo. They answer his questions on the how, where, why and when, they chastise him over the mistletoe (but tell him that, y'know, he can leave it up if he really _insists_), and he is on their side. He tells them he's happy for them, that it's about bloody time, and although he's sure they know what they're doing, to proceed with a little caution lest hearts get broken.

What he doesn't tell them is that they needn't have bothered keeping it a secret, as he's known from the start. They're not as subtle as they think they are and he'll be scarred for life over what he saw on the car park CCTV camera a few nights ago. But he decides it's easier, for now, to let them think they've won.

* * *

**Next chapter: _Hot Chocolate_**


	2. Hot Chocolate

_Thank you so much for all the reviews! I'm glad you like the idea; what with all the fandom angst over Harry leaving lately, I thought it would be nice to have some harmless Christmas fluff to cheer everyone up._

* * *

**Hot Chocolate:**

Why must people die at such unsociable hours, Harry Cunningham wonders bitterly as he emerges from his car into the biting early morning winter winds. Nikki had done nothing but laugh sleepily as he'd complained about this while forcing himself to get up an hour earlier. Next time an early morning call came in, he was going to make sure that Leo assigned it to her.

The crime scene is in the centre of a boggy, muddy field and he finds himself thanking a god he doesn't believe in that he has his Wellington boots in the back of his car.

He meets the detective, a nice chap who looks just as unhappy to be dragged out bed as Harry feels, and they both agree to work as quickly as possible. It turns out to be a stabbing and the field is merely a dump site for the body, so Harry's job is fairly simple while the poor SOCOs run around recording tyre marks and ground temperatures and flattened sections of crop.

Two hours later, when he's chilled to the bone and the sky is beginning to turn that steely grey of a December morning, he concludes that there's nothing else to be done here. So, caked in mud and unable to feel his fingers, he arranges for the body to be taken back to the lab, tells the detective to join him there later in the morning, and heads back to his car.

He peels off his wellies, unceremoniously stuffs them into a carrier bag and throws them into his boot, where he decides he'll deal with them later. Then he slips back into his original shoes, sits down heavily in the driver's seat and whacks the heater up to full blast.

Yawning widely, he fires a quick text to Nikki to let her know that he's on his way back to the Lyell, and then sets off.

When he finally makes it back to the office, after being caught up in the beginnings of rush hour, he's so relieved to be back in the warmth and bright light that he could nearly cry. Upon spotting Nikki at her desk with two Starbucks cups in front of her, he realises in that moment that he could never function without her.

"Coffee," he says as he crosses the room. "Proper coffee. Thank god."

She smiles at him as she hands him a cup and he raises it to his lips. "Actually," she says brightly. "It's not coffee."

He realises this the moment the hot liquid touches his tongue. Wincing, he holds the cup at arm's length and says, "What the hell is this?"

"Hot chocolate," she replies innocently.

"That is not hot chocolate." He shudders and pulls another face.

"Yes, it is. Peppermint hot chocolate," she tells him. He makes a noise of disgust and she frowns at him and adds, "It's Christmas in a cup!"

"It will be Christmas in the bin in a second."

She gazes at him reproachfully. "You're such a Scrooge."

"Nikki. You know as well as I do that I have been up since four a.m. You also know that at this time in the morning, the only thing I drink is coffee. Black coffee. Not this hot chocolate crap. _Never _this hot chocolate crap."

He's trying to be serious, but she laughs softly and passes him the other cup on her desk. He sniffs it warily and realises that it is indeed a strong black coffee. He looks at her questioningly.

"The peppermint hot chocolate is mine, you idiot," she grins, taking the cup and sipping from it, as if to prove her point. "Of course I got you a coffee. I just thought it would be fun to see your face if it was the other way round."

He gazes at her in shock for a moment, before a smile tugs at his lips. "That was cruel," he tells her. "And I hate you."

With a giggle she says, "I know." Standing, she allows him to kiss her gently. It doesn't take long, however, before he pulls back rather abruptly. "What?" she asks him, as he picks up his coffee and begins to walk away.

"You taste like bloody peppermint," he grumbles over his shoulder.

* * *

**Next chapter: _Snow_**


	3. Snow

_Do you feel sick because of all the cheese yet? I kinda do, and I'm the one writing it. I'm not used to such a lack of angst._

_Thank you for all the feedback! You guys are just the greatest._

* * *

**Snow:**

A scream and a loud exclamation of "Oh my god!" wakes Harry with a start. Disoriented and mildly terrified, he thrashes around in bed for a moment before promptly tumbling off the side and crashing to the floor. As he slowly comes to, rubbing his head, and realises that there is no imminent threat of danger, anger begins to replace confusion.

"What the hell, Nikki?!"

Squinting through the semi-darkness around his bedroom, he spots her standing in front of the window, peering through a gap in the curtains.

"Sorry," she says off-handedly, not sounding very sorry at all. "But it's snowing!"

He sighs exasperatedly, climbing back into bed and submerging himself once again under the duvet.

"Harry..." she whines, coming to kneel on the covers bedside him, her hands pressed to her knees in such a childlike way that he can't help but find it endearing. "You know I love snow."

It's true, he does know this. Every year when they have an inch of snow and everyone over the age of ten starts grumbling and the country grinds to a halt, Nikki's out there with all the enthusiasm of a toddler, marvelling at the 'beauty' of it. Harry is a little more sceptical.

"I didn't have snow in South Africa, Harry. I never built snowmen with my dad or ate soup made by my mother when I came back in, all red and cold," she tells him, and he knows that she's saying it to make him feel guilty, and to get him out of bed, but he's still grumpy about being woken and refuses to fall for it.

"So you say every year," he reminds her, burying his head further into his pillow.

She sighs laboriously. "You're so boring." He feels the lift of the mattress as she climbs off the bed and looks up when he hears the door open.

"Where are you going?"

"To see the snow!"

He forces himself into a sitting position. "Nikki, it is seven o'clock in the morning, you are wearing your pyjamas, and might I remind you that it is our day off. Come back to bed."

She looks at him for a moment, then simply says, "No," and slips out of the door.

Groaning loudly, he collapses back against his pillows. She's so bloody stubborn, and she's going to catch her death out there in nothing but pyjamas and what he suspects is his jumper.

Sighing, he slides out of bed and stretches languidly. He dresses, enters the kitchen to make two cups of coffee, zips his jacket up to his neck, wraps a scarf on top of that, leaves his apartment, and works his way downstairs and outside.

He spots her immediately. She's standing on the street, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, laughing as a young boy across the road awkwardly carries a dinner tray into the snow, sits on it, and seemingly can't understand why it's not moving. He's glad to see that she had the sense to put on a coat, but her shoes look sodden and he can see her shivering.

"Here," he says, holding out the mug. "Peace offering?"

She starts at the sound of his voice, but accepts the coffee gratefully, her slender fingers closing around the porcelain. "You got out of bed," she observes.

"Wanted to make sure you didn't freeze to death," he quips. She smiles, and all tension is forgotten. He places an arm around her shoulders and pulls her against him.

"You realise how weird we look right now?" he says, as a passing dog walker throws them a curious glance, his eyes widening at Nikki's pyjama bottoms. "It's not the fifties, you can't just stand on the street any more."

She tuts. "I don't care. I can and I will."

He smiles. Yes, she's stubborn. But it's one of the many things he loves about her. "Fine. So we'll stand here all day. Even though it's minus one hundred. Even though it's our day off, and we should be making the most of a morning in bed together before Leo undoubtedly calls us with some sort snow-related accident."

A soft giggle escapes her lips. "You do make quite a compelling argument. And I am cold."

"Come on," he says, steering her back indoors. "I'll make you some hot cocoa for breakfast and then we can sit by the fire and wave at the postman as he walks up the path, and I'll call out a hello to the polite young children who run past, waving their toboggans with gay abandon."

She elbows him in the ribs. "Stop being facetious."

* * *

**Next chapter: _Candy_**


	4. Candy

_This was actually supposed to be 'Candy Canes', but I chose to ignore that because I couldn't for the life of me see Harry and/or Nikki eating candy canes. It was too American. So I eliminated the second word and chose to interpret candy to mean chocolate. _

_Enjoy. ;)_

* * *

**Candy:**

A sigh escapes her lips and she sinks a little lower in her chair, plucking a chocolate from the large tin that she stole from Leo's office (she suspects he was saving them for the Christmas party) and popping it in her mouth, dropping the brightly coloured wrapper on her desk amongst the others.

She had been in such a good mood this morning, too. And then lunchtime came, and with it a call to a railway station. At that can only mean one thing in her line of work: a jumper.

It's such a messy, painful way to go, throwing yourself under a train. She'll never understand it. But it was the who, rather than the how, that really got to her this time. A young girl, Sophie Hyland. She was seventeen years old, had her whole life ahead of her. Until it all proved to be too much.

The images of hundreds of brightly coloured flowers, flickering candles, squashy teddy bears and photos, everywhere photos, are burned vividly into Nikki's eyelids. She sees the heartbreaking tributes to a friend, classmate, student, building up at the school gates with every blink.

Her elbow rests on her desk, her hand the only thing preventing her head from simply falling until it hits the hard, cold grey surface (or, as is more likely, the pile of sweet wrappers).

Another chocolate. She bites it in half, savouring the orange creme on her tongue for a moment.

"You okay?"

She starts at the sound of his voice, not bothering to look up as he walks towards her. "No, I'm not okay."

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him wheel a stool over to the opposite side of her desk, where he sits and takes a chocolate for himself. "This isn't one of those toffees, is it?" he asks as he twists off the red plastic. "The ones that are so hard they glue your teeth together for hours?"

She appreciates the effort he's making and slowly lifts her head. "No," she says with a tight smile. "Strawberry creme. You're safe."

He shoots her a trademark grin and pops the sweet into his mouth. She takes another one for herself.

"Leo told me about your case. Can't be easy," he probes carefully.

"No, it isn't."

"Is that why you're steadily eating your way through one kilogram of chocolate?"

"Yes."

"I see."

There's a pregnant pause and she can feel him waiting for her to continue. So she does.

"She was seventeen, Harry. Her dad said that she was a straight A student. She could have been anything and done anything she wanted to. But then some boy broke her heart and she started to feel the pressure of A-levels and decided it would be easier to kill herself. It's such a waste of a life. And maybe it could have been prevented, if someone had just said to her that she was going to be okay. That what she thought was true love was actually just her first agonising crush in what was sure to be a long line of many. That good grades aren't everything in life."

She swallows hard and looks at Harry, whose eyes are narrowed and understanding.

"You should see her dad," she goes on. "He's such a waste of space, and her mum isn't around. If she'd just had someone... I don't know. It's just messed up. She was so young." A beat, and then, "She reminds me of me."

"Yeah, I thought she might," he says quietly, and it startles her just how much he understands her.

"If I hadn't had Nan when I was that age... Well, you know what school was like for me. I was the quiet, mousey girl who didn't wear make up and didn't talk unless it was to answer a question. I was the nerd who none of the boys ever fancied and none of the girls ever talked to. My dad was never there... So yeah, if it wasn't for my nan, who knows where I'd be right now," she confesses.

It's somewhat of a relief, just to get everything that has been plaguing her since she attended the scene off her chest. And it's a testament to Harry's compassion and understanding, how he doesn't interrupt and yet knows exactly what to say.

Silently, he reaches across the desk and takes her hand, squeezing it tightly. Impatiently brushing away a tear, she mutters, "I'm being stupid. It's just that - it's Christmas. And no one should feel that desolate, that desperate and alone, at Christmas."

"No," he says firmly. "You're not being stupid at all."

A tiny smile tugs at her lips and she brushes her thumb over the back of his hand.

"You know, there is one boy who really really fancies you," he says, his tone lighter than before. When she looks at him questioningly, he adopts a voice of mock-seriousness and adds, "Nikki Alexander, will you go to the prom with me?"

A watery laugh escapes her and he grins. Getting up from his stool, he comes to stand beside her and then bends down to her level. Still smiling, she allows him to wrap his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest. With a sigh, she rests her cheek on his shoulder.

"I think if I have any more chocolate I might be sick," she tells him and feels his chuckle vibrate against her whole body.

"Good, because Leo knows you stole them and said he wants them back - what's left of them, anyway."

She half-groans and half-laughs, marvelling at the way he has managed to ease her foul mood in a matter of minutes.

"Come on," he says, pulling away from her and getting to his feet. He extends his hand. "Let's go home."

Smiling, she grabs her bag and coat from the back of her chair, takes his hand, waits as he picks up his own things, and then follows him from the office. They bid goodnight to Leo and she promises to replace the chocolates.

On their way across the car park, Harry releases her hand so that he can put his arm around her shoulders. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he murmurs suggestively, "You know, I can think of far more entertaining, and healthier, methods of cheering you up."

She can't help but grin at him. "Are you taking advantage of my emotional vulnerability?"

He shrugs a shoulder with a smirk. "Might be."

* * *

**Next chapter: _Christmas Tree_**


	5. Christmas Tree

_This is disgustingly fluffy. You have been warned._

* * *

**Christmas Tree:**

"Remind me why we're doing this again?" she grumbles as Harry parks the car and kills the engine.

"Now who's being the Scrooge?" he teases. "Look, if we must get a Christmas tree, then it has to be a real one."

"But why? A fake one would be so much easier. Think of all the needles a real one is going to drop on my carpet. It's going to need watering, and how do you think one might do that without making a mess? And then what about after Christmas, when it dies and goes all brown? What are we going to do with it then?" she asks him, eyebrows raised.

There's a moment's pause and then he simply says, "A plastic tree isn't the same, and you'll never convince me otherwise."

She huffs as she gets out of the car and follows him across the gravel car park and into the tree nursery. Okay, so maybe she's overreacting. But he won't be the one clearing up the mess it leaves behind, she will.

Harry takes her hand as they walk around, his eyes narrowed as he passes judgement on several different trees, all of which look exactly the same to her.

"What do you think of this one?" he says eventually.

She gives it a cursory glance, shrugs, and says, "It's fine."

"Will you stop sulking? We supposed to be choosing it together," he admonishes, but an amused smile tugs at his lips.

"It looks like every other tree in here," she complains. "What do you want me to say, Harry?"

"I want you to say 'oh Harry, my love, my darling, the best sex I ever had, what a jolly terrific idea it was to buy a real Christmas tree, and this one you have chosen is by far the most splendid of them all!'" he cries dramatically.

She laughs. "I am not saying any of those things. And you are not the best sex I've ever had. You're ... mediocre."

"Oh really?"

"Yes."

"That's not what you said last night."

She blushes at the mere memory, a smug smile settling across his face when he sees.

"Fine," she says quickly. "Just get that one. It's perfectly nice."

He appraises it for a moment. "Hmm. Gone off it now."

She groans. "Oh my god, Harry."

Leaning into her, he whispers, "Now that is what you said last night."

His breath tickles her neck and a shiver runs up her spine that has nothing to do with the cold. Twisting her head slightly so that her lips are brushing against the corner of his mouth, she mutters, "Just choose a tree so that we can get out of here."

With some satisfaction, she watches his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard. Clearing his throat, he turns back to the tree and says, "You know what, I think this one will be fine." He signals to a nearby member of staff. "We'll take this one, thanks."

By the time they get home nearly half an hour later, they can barely keep their hands off each other. The tree remains precariously tied to the roof of Harry's car, long forgotten about, as he struggles to unlock the door to Nikki's apartment whilst simultaneously kissing her neck.

"I'm so glad you wanted to get a real tree," she breathes, her fingers painfully digging into his shoulders. He gets the door open and they tumble through it.

"Stop talking," he commands as his hands start working on the buttons of her coat, causing her to laugh throatily.

"Hey, here's an idea," she says, just as he's finally managed to remove her top layers, leaving her in just jeans and a bra.

"Did you not hear what I just said?" he quips, his lips not once leaving her warm skin.

"Move in with me."

There's a swoop in his stomach and he freezes. His eyes find hers, his lips swollen and his face flushed. "What?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it?" she continues, gently smoothing his mussed up hair over his forehead. "You're here all the time anyway, all your stuff is here. We're getting a tree together. We've not spent the night at your apartment in ages..." Off his shocked expression, she adds, "I mean, it's just an idea, you don't have to. I just thought, we - we have so much fun together and - and we wasted so much time getting to this point and-"

He cuts her off by pressing his lips against hers, the frenzied heat and passion of a moment previously replaced by something infinitely more gentle. "Yeah, I'll move in," he whispers when they break apart.

A massive smile graces her features. "You will?"

"Yes," he grins, and she laughs as he lifts her off her feet, blindly stumbling into the bedroom.

* * *

**Next chapter: _Angel_**


	6. Angel

_This pretty much immediately follows on from the last chapter. I guess they kinda are in chronological order after all._

_Many thanks for all the reviews/follows/favourites! I love you all, and I'll try and make the Christmas Day chapter a real doozy, as a present to all of you._

_P.S. Spot the sly Doctor Who reference I made, in honour of Tom's Christmas debut in the show. _

* * *

**Angel:**

"Well, this is fun," Harry comments drily, his voice muffled due to his head being buried in the depths of her wardrobe.

"I know they're in there somewhere," she frowns. "I'm sure I put them on one of the shelves last year, so that I'd be able to find them easily this year."

Harry's face emerges with a huff and he looks down at her from the step-ladder he's on with his eyebrows raised. "Well, you did a great job!" he says, his words laced with sarcasm.

She throws him a withering glare. "Just keep looking."

"Why don't you?"

"Because you're taller!" she retorts. "See if they're under that pile of sheets in the back left-hand corner of the very top shelf."

He sighs but disappears again. There's the sound of rustling, a quietly-uttered swear word, and then a loud, "Aha! Think I've found them."

"Thank god," she breathes, as he pulls out a large cardboard box.

Coughing slightly from the dust, she takes it from him and places it on her bed while Harry descends the ladder and joins her. "It's like the bloody TARDIS, your wardrobe," he grumbles.

Ignoring him, she peels off the parcel tape and opens the box. Inside is a glittering array of tinsel, fairy lights and tree decorations. Snorting, Harry plucks out a cardboard toilet roll tube, messily covered in white tissue paper and glitter, with a bright pink face painted on to the top and a sellotaped paper halo sticking out above that. "Oh wow," he laughs. "You made this yourself, didn't you?"

"Shut up!" she admonishes, snatching it back and gently elbowing him in the ribs. "A friend's daughter made it for me a few years ago. I like it. It's nice to have something homemade."

"If you say so. Why does she look like she's in pain?"

Nikki huffs. "I'd look like that too if I had a branch stuck up my arse."

They take the decorations through to the lounge, where the large tree they purchased that morning stands in the corner.

"I still can't believe you made me get a real one," she says, pursing her lips. "If it drops needles all over the carpet, you will be the one hoovering them up."

"Yes, dear," he replies, his eyes twinkling.

"Hey, I can still take back that offer of you moving in with me, you know," she scolds.

He laughs. "Oh wow. Two hours, that lasted."

"Longer than any of your previous relationships," she teases, heading over to her iPod dock.

"Um, hello. Pot, kettle, black," he points out, then pulls a face. "What on earth are we listening to?"

"Christmas music. It's Michael Bublé."

With a sigh, he bends over and starts untangling long strips of tinsel. "Lord save us," he mutters under his breath, which she chooses to ignore.

A while later, when Michael Bublé has begun to repeat himself, Harry finds himself flat on his stomach under the tree trying to plug the lights in at the wall. "This would be easier if you would just use an extension cable," he tells her, grunting in pain as he hits his head against the bucket that they potted the tree in.

"Stop complaining. It's only two plugs," she tuts, as she stretches up to put her toilet roll angel on top.

"Yes, and it will be muggins here turning them off before bed every night."

"Good, you can sweep up the needles while you're there."

He finally manages to get the plugs into the sockets and flicks on the switch. A multitude of coloured light hits the side of his cheek and he hears a small exhalation from Nikki. Shimmying out from under the tree and getting to his feet, he smiles at the look on her face.

"You really do love Christmas," he laughs, as she gazes at the tree, flawlessly decorated under her instruction. He can see the lights reflected in her eyes. "Wait, are you crying?" he asks incredulously.

"No!" she assures him, shaking her head furiously.

He laughs again. "Oh my god, you are! Oh, that's adorable."

"Shut up, I am not!" she insists, but she only half-heartedly pushes him away when he drops an arm around her shoulders and tugs her against him.

"No, I love it when you're human," he chuckles, kissing the top of her head.

"I hate you," she tells him, but her arms wind around his waist and her head falls against his chest.

He smiles, his gaze falling to the jauntily-placed angel. "I know."

* * *

**Next chapter: _Pie_**


	7. Pie

_So I was asked by a couple of you how on earth I was going to fit 'pie' into Harry and Nikki's lives. And I have to admit, it wasn't easy. But I think I managed._

_This chapter also gives you a little of the background info on how Harry and Nikki actually got together, which I realise I never included because we dived straight into them as a couple. But I had it all mapped out in my head anyway, so I thought I would let you all in on how it happened. The allusion to Nikki on the phone to Leo is from 'Fear' and is absolutely one of my favourite scenes between them. I just love the whole phone call. And don't forget, 'Fear' was meant to be the series finale, not 'And Then I Fell In Love', which is why - to me - it seemed perfectly logical for Harry and Nikki to get together after then. _

_That wasn't very clear, was it? Oh, you'll see. I'm tired and this is like twelve hours late anyway._

* * *

**Pie:**

"Harry?"

Nikki drops her keys onto the table and listens, frowning at her apparently empty flat.

"In the kitchen!"

Pushing off her shoes with a weary sigh and hanging up her coat, she makes her way to the kitchen with some trepidation. Last time she came home to find Harry in that particular room, there was a 'lasagne' (she uses that term loosely) in the oven and tomato sauce on her ceiling. And apparently today was to be no different.

"Oh dear lord," she mutters as she walks in, only to discover that nearly everything has been coated in a thin layer of flour, including Harry and what she thinks used to be her dishcloth. Some brown gooey substance that looks suspiciously like pickle is leaving snail trails across the worktop. "I see you've had a productive day off."

He grins. "Yeah. I wanted to do something nice for you, so I was going to cook you a meal. But then I remembered the lasagne and thought better of it. So I was in Marks and Spencer, buying one of their meals that I could pretend I had cooked for you, when I saw the mince pie making things by the till. And the woman said any fool could make them, so-"

"You thought you'd be that fool?" she quips.

"Yes," he says, ignoring her sarcasm. "The first batch wasn't so great, I think I forgot to put the sugar in the pastry because they did not taste good, but the second batch is about to come out of the oven and they certainly smelt a lot better than their predecessors."

Spying the glass of wine beside him, she giggles and asks, "Are you drunk?"

"I may have been cooking with wine. Since three o'clock this afternoon. So my judgement may be a little impaired," he confesses, wiping a hand on his apron so that he can tug her towards him and press a soft kiss to her lips. "Good day?"

She shrugs as she moves away and takes a wine glass out of the cupboard, filling it from the bottle of red on the worktop. "All right. Boring. Mostly paperwork. Leo was in a foul mood."

"He was?"

"Yes. Janet had phoned him. Said she'd left a book at his and she needed it back. I think it was the first time he'd spoken to her since their split. All I know is that he spent the rest of the day holed up in his office, biting off the head of whichever unfortunate bastard happened to go in there." She sighs and takes a large gulp of wine, the tart liquid soothing her somewhat.

"I'll never understand why they broke up. I'm still convinced Leo had a midlife crisis," Harry says, shaking his head.

"I asked him what it would take to make him happy," she murmurs, recollecting her conversation with Leo some weeks ago. "When he was in Essex I phoned him. I asked him why he and Janet had broken up. They both liked each other, _loved_ each other, what more did it take?"

He holds her gaze for a moment, then smiles and says, "Sounds familiar."

"He said he didn't know," she tells him quietly, a gentle crease appearing in her brow. "Said that he thought he'd figured that out so many times. But that was when _I_ realised what it would take. For _me_ to be happy. It was so obvious, then, so blindingly clear... You."

A beat, and then he says, "Which is why you turned up on my doorstep-"

"And told you to kiss me," she finishes.

He smirks. "And I wouldn't."

She rolls her eyes. "No, you wouldn't."

There's a beep from the oven and Harry rather excitedly slips his hands into the oven mitts and extracts a tray of slightly messy but otherwise seemingly okay mince pies. He gently prises them out and places them on a cooling rack, slapping her hand away when she goes to take one.

"Not too bad, eh?" he grins, and she doesn't have the heart to tell him that two of them look startlingly close to collapse.

"Better than the lasagne."

They stand and stare at the pies for a while, as if that will make them cool faster.

"I didn't kiss you because you were drunk," he continues, with a slight curl of his lip.

"I was not! I'd had one tequila shot. Dutch courage," she cries defensively.

He snorts. "Oh yeah, of course. I didn't believe that then, don't expect me to start now." She glares at him at he continues, "But I made you coffee."

A slight flush of embarrassment creeps up her cheeks. "Yeah, after I'd thrown myself at you."

"Yes. Which, by the way, I am still impressed at how I handled. Talk about self-control. Mine, not yours, because you didn't have _any_."

She sighs petulantly. "Whatever, I was drunk."

He grins and continues. "You sobered up quite quickly, though. So I asked you what you were thinking-"

"I was convinced you were so mad at me that you'd never speak to me again," she tells him with a self-deprecating smile. "I thought I'd ruined everything."

"Yes, you'd said that. I told you that you hadn't ruined anything at all-"

"That I just had to be sure," she nods, smiling. "I told you I was."

"_Then_ I kissed you," he recalls, his eyes twinkling. "Then I _really_ kissed you."

She remembers their first time vividly - hands everywhere, tracing every line of burning skin, lips against lips, then lips against everything, fingers tangled in hair, a sheen of sweat in every dip and curve and crease, and then a rush so high that she could have sworn she'd blacked out, stars popping on the inside of her eyelids, and it had felt so _good_.

She meets his eyes and wonders if he is remembering it too.

"And now here we are," she smiles.

He nods, pressing a kiss to her hairline. "And now here we are." He pulls away and she reluctantly allows him, then smiles as he carefully hands her a pie. "Mince pie? I hear they're to die for."

Giggling, she picks it up and gingerly takes a bite. She chews for a second, then narrows her asks and asks, "Did you cheat?"

"No I did not!"

"Are you sure? Because these are - well, these are actually quite good," she concedes, grinning at the look at childish satisfaction on his face. "I guess it's true what that lady said then."

"What?"

"Any fool can make them."

* * *

**Next chapter: _Tinsel_**


	8. Tinsel

_Oh look, more fluff. It's almost obscene. _

_Thank you so much for all your feedback. I'm so glad you're enjoying it. :)_

* * *

**Tinsel:**

"Remind me again why we're doing this?" Harry grumbles, wobbling slightly on the stepladder as he attempts to tack some gold tinsel to the ceiling of the office.

"Because normally Janet and Leo decorate the office," she explains, passing him another piece, this time in silver. "And obviously this year she isn't around to do so. Besides putting up those bits of mistletoe, he hasn't shown any enthusiasm for it. The Christmas party is in less than a week and I just thought it would be easier for him if we decorated instead."

"Don't you think that's a decision for Leo to make?" he asks shrewdly, stepping down and moving the ladder a couple of metres to the right.

"As if he'd ask for our help, you know what he's like. He's so proud."

"So that's why we had to get here at five a.m.? Because you're worried about his pride being hurt if he sees that we're helping him?"

"Yes," she says simply.

Harry shakes his head in despair as he climbs back up the ladder. "And what do you suppose is going to happen when he arrives later? He's going to assume that the Christmas elves decorated the entire lab and be overjoyed?"

She tuts. "No. He'll probably be quite angry at us. And then launch his usual spiel and accuse us of treading on eggshells around him-"

"We _are_ treading on eggshells around him," he interrupts. "He's changed."

"He's better than he was. But he's ... fragile."

Harry laughs humourlessly. "Oh, I'm sure he'd love it if he knew you'd said that."

She glares at him. "You know what I mean. It only takes the slightest thing to set him off these days."

He looks at her for a second, then says, "_So glad_ we decided to do this. Pass me another bit of tinsel. And you know what, while we're here we can put fairy lights in the morgue and baubles on the cadavers."

She raises her eyebrows thoughtfully. "Ooh, fairy lights in the morgue..."

"I was joking."

"I wasn't!"

He rolls his eyes, pinning up the last strand of tinsel and then stepping down from the ladder and standing beside her.

"You're insane," he mutters, pressing a kiss to her smiling lips. "And I love you."

There it is; those three little words that neither of them have yet dared to say aloud. And he's saying them to her. His eyes are locked with hers but she has only just opened her mouth to respond when, with impeccable timing, the doors buzz and Leo enters the office.

He stops dead at the sight of them. "What are you two doing here so early?"

Harry reluctantly drags his gaze away from Nikki's face and turns to his boss. "I could ask you the same thing," he retorts evasively.

Leo's eyes travel up to the tinsel-adorned ceiling, the glowing Christmas tree in the corner, the fairy lights running along the edge of desks and cupboards. "You're decorating?" he says in bemusement. "At six in the morning?"

Swallowing hard, Harry says, "I would just like it to be known that this was entirely Nikki's idea. One hundred percent on her."

Elbowing him in the ribs, Nikki says carefully, "We're sorry, Leo. Don't be mad at us."

At this, Leo looks even more confused. "Why would I be mad at you? Although - well, I had hoped that maybe we could decorate the lab together this year. But it doesn't matter; the place looks great. Thank you."

"You're really not angry?" Harry asks with a frown.

"No! Look, you two don't have to keep ... I don't know, protecting me from my myself, or whatever it is you think you're doing. It's sweet of you, but I'm okay. I'm not going to disappear to Essex again, I'm not going to break down every time someone mentions Janet-"

"You're not going to grow a beard again?" Harry interrupts.

"I'm not going to grow a beard. And do you know why? Because I have the two of you watching my back. What more could anyone need?"

Nikki steps forward and embraces her boss tightly, while Harry grins says, "Want to come and help me put fairy lights in the morgue?"

Nikki beams at him and Leo laughs. "Let me just take my coat off and get sorted. I'll join you there in a minute."

Harry wanders off with the box of lights, whistling someone festive. Nikki watches him leave and then follows Leo into his office. She waits until her boss has shrugged off his coat and then blurts out, "He just told me he loved me."

Leo stops removing his scarf and slowly turns around. He raises his eyebrows slightly. "And?"

"Well, I haven't said it back yet. You walked in before I got the chance and now too much time has passed and-"

"Nikki," he interrupts with a sigh. "Do you not love Harry?"

"Of course I do!"

"Well then tell him! The where and the when do not matter when you tell someone that you love them, believe me."

She bites her lip uncertainly. "I've never said it to anyone before."

"You've never told anyone that you loved them?" Leo asks, surprised.

"No. Not and meant it. But I've never felt like this before. This is - this is Harry," she confesses.

Leo smiles, taking her hand and gently squeezing it. "I'm so happy for both of you, you know. Now go and find him. I'll be down in five minutes, mind, so don't get ... carried away."

A blush instantly rises on her cheeks. "Leo!"

He just shrugs and grins as she tuts and leaves his office, heading down to the cutting room. She finds Harry on the steps to the observation deck, stretching up with two sets of lights clutched firmly in his hands.

"Which ones?" he asks when he sees her approaching. "White or red? I did quite like the red lights, but then I thought red might be a bit too connotative for the morgue, so we'd probably be better sticking with whi-"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before Nikki pounces on him, kissing him long and hard on the mouth, her fingers burying themselves in her hair. He makes a small noise of surprise in the back of his throat, his arms flailing wildly for a second, before the lights he was holding clatter to the ground and his arms wrap tightly around her waist.

When they break apart, breathing heavily, he murmurs, "What was that for?"

She meets his eyes, holding his gaze firmly as she breathes, "I love you too."

* * *

**Next chapter: _Ice Skating_**


	9. Ice Skating

_Sorry for not getting this up yesterday! I have an assignment due on Thursday so this has had to take a bit of a back seat. And I was so determined not to miss a single day, too. Damn. But it does mean you'll be getting two today._

_This is for Holly, who is literally spamming me with lovely reviews as I write this. And also for Kiwiswfan for correctly guessing that we'd be going to Somerset House. And for all of you who keep reading and reviewing. I genuinely love you all._

* * *

**Ice Skating:**

"You are kidding me?"

"Oh, come on, Harry! It will be fun! Please?"

"No."

"Please? For me?"

"Nope."

An hour later and Harry finds himself dragged out of bed and on his way to Somerset House's famous ice rink. He isn't particularly happy about it, and so spends the majority of the car journey sulking in petulant silence.

"Isn't is beautiful?" Nikki cries, literally dragging him towards the rink once they arrive. "So romantic."

"I hate ice skating," is his response, to which he receives a huff.

"When was the last time you actually went ice skating?" she retorts. "I haven't done it since I was at school and I know for a fact I'm going to be crap at it. But that's the whole fun of it, isn't it?"

Harry pulls a face. They pay (an extortionate amount) to get in, exchange their shoes for skates, and are soon on the actual ice.

"Don't worry, you can hold my hand," Nikki smirks, though one of her hands is currently preoccupied with gripping onto the handrail.

He sighs. "I don't need to hold your hand."

She laughs. "Okay, Mr Macho. Fall over and hurt yourself. See if I care."

He bites back another sigh and instead decides to show her just how little he actually does need her help. Pushing off from the handrail, he skates quickly around the rink, weaving swiftly through the crowd and easily dodging a child who falls onto his knees. He completes the loop and reaches Nikki again, where he whizzes straight past her, spins 180 degrees on the spot, and comes to a scraping halt in front of her.

She stares at him and he resists the temptation to laugh at the look on her face, like she's torn between amusement and incredulity. "You can ice skate?! Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I don't know. It never came up, I guess."

She laughs, clearly unable to hold it in any longer. "But ... _how_? Why?"

He takes her hand and they slowly begin to move around the ice. "My mum made me go when I was young. I got quite into it. Won a competition when I was thirteen."

"You did?" she snorts, gripping his fingers more tightly as she wobbles precariously.

"Next time we're at my Mum's, take a look at the tiny silver trophy she so proudly displays on the mantelpiece," he grins. "Anyway, I started to get teased about it as I moved higher up secondary school. It was bad enough that I was such a nerd, without the fact that I did ice skating in spare time. So I quit."

She has the grace to look sympathetic. "That's a shame. Just think, you could have been the next Christopher Dean." He glares at her and she giggles again. "I'm sorry, I just – Oh, I really hope your mother has some home video."

Harry begins to regret ever telling her. He's also overcome with a sudden resentment for his mother. He _knew_ that ice skating crap would come back and bite him in the arse one day.

"Please don't make a big deal out of this," he pleads with her, frowning when he realises that she's pulled her mobile phone out of her pocket. "What are you doing?"

"Texting Leo."

"Nikki!"

"Look, I love you. But this is the greatest thing anyone's ever told me," she teases.

He sighs, but he finds that he's not really that angry. "Fine then, you can skate on your own," he tells her, letting go of her hand. Immediately, she shoves her phone back in her jeans and reaches out for him.

"No, don't let me go!" she cries.

"All right then, let's skate," he says, changing tack. He grabs both of her hands in his and starts skating backwards, fast. She squeals as she's pulled forward, laughing loudly. A near scream escapes her lips when he makes a sharp turn. She's clinging onto him so tightly he's beginning to lose sensation in his fingers.

"Harry!"

He grins and slows down, bringing her to a steady stop. A passer-by gives them a disapproving glare.

They spend another hour slowly skating around in giant circles, linked together, until Nikki suddenly declares that she's ready to try a lap on her own.

"Are you sure?" he asks with a smirk. "You haven't shown the best ... poise, yet today."

She tuts. "Yes, I'm sure. Just stand there and watch."

Holding up his hands in surrender, Harry moves out of the way and back against the edge of the rink. Nikki begins to move, tremulously at first, and then slightly faster as she gains more confidence. She's dead opposite him on the other side of the rink when she suddenly looks up at him, a broad grin on her face. It was a bad idea, however, as she doesn't see the person in front of her until it's too late. Harry watches as her arms comically flail for the rail for a few seconds, before she realises she's too far away from it, panics, and falls flat on the ice.

Struggling not to look too amused, Harry skates across to her. She gazes up at him with a pout. "I think I've broken my bottom."

At this he does laugh, unable to help it. And he can't stop laughing.

"It's not funny!" she protests. "It hurts."

"You are spectacularly bad at this," he tells her, still grinning.

She throws him a withering glare. "Are you going to help me up or what?"

He takes both of her hands in his once again and pulls her to her unsteady feet. She rubs the bottom of her back and winces.

"Time to go home, I think," he tells her, trying and failing to be compassionate when his desire to laugh again is almost overwhelming.

"I hate ice skating," she grumbles as they slowly head towards the exit.

He puts his arm around her shoulders, tugging her against him and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "If it's any consolation," he says, "I think we're now even."

* * *

**Next chapter: _Frost_**


	10. Frost

_Okay, I have no excuses for the ridiculous delay in updating this, other than I'm in the middle of my university degree at the moment and I had assignments coming out of my ears this week and so have literally been running on empty and have just had no time to write. So yes. But I'm done until mid-January now, so have been working really hard today trying to catch up. The plan is: upload this one and the next one tonight, then give you two/three tomorrow, then the remaining ones on Monday and I'll be all caught up. That is the plan. And I've written three of them, so it could work. ;)_

_This chapter is for mari27990 for giving me a nudge and Lizzi for being generally really awesome. _

_P.S. 'Frost' was really tricky, so I've used it rather loosely. _

* * *

**Frost:**

Nikki exhales deeply, rubbing her aching temples. Her warm breath rises as fog in the cold night air, clouding her vision. She's exhausted. So exhausted she's surprised she's still standing, let alone working.

It had been a little past one a.m. when she'd got the call, and she'd been in the middle of a screaming argument with Harry, so had been almost relieved.

It was their first big argument since they became a couple. It was that pathetic that she can't even remember what it was about now, not really. Something to do with him getting a phone call from an ex and not telling her about it. Leo had let it slip mid-PM, thinking Harry had mentioned it. Of course, he'd told this ex that he wasn't interested but the idea that he had kept it secret angered her. If it was all so innocent then why hadn't he just _told her_?

She swallows the frustration that threatens to overwhelm her again and decides that her job here is done. Upon realising that she can hear the first birds of the day beginning to twitter (far too happily for her liking), she guesses it must be coming up to four a.m. A thick layer of frost has settled underfoot while she was working, giving the appearance of snow. It glitters in the harsh crime scene lights, beautiful really, juxtaposed against the dark sticky blood still oozing from the car crash victim.

He was only young, the dead guy. There was a sharp tug in her stomach the moment she laid eyes on him. Such a waste of a life. It would appear as if he took the bend in the road too quickly, lost control on the icy, frosty tarmac and flipped over, rolling onto the grass. There are so many contributing factors; so many little things that caused this and could have been avoided. Maybe if he'd taken the main roads rather than this deserted narrow one he wouldn't have crashed. Maybe if the council had bothered to grit it. Maybe if it was just a few degrees warmer, too warm for frost and ice. Maybe if it was raining rather than a clear night. Maybe maybe maybe.

Crunching her way back to her car, she pulls out her mobile and hovers over Harry's name. She hesitates for a moment and then shoves her phone back in her pocket. He'll be asleep by now, anyway.

She strips off her white coveralls and sinks heavily into her car seat.

It's a treacherous drive home because of the icy roads. She takes it slowly, carefully, not wanting to end up like the John Doe she just attended to. When she eventually pulls up outside her apartment, it's a little after four-thirty and she's dangerously tired. She takes a moment to appreciate the sparkling pavement in the orange glow of a nearby streetlight, leaving footprints in the thick frost as she heads inside into the warmth.

She tiptoes into her silent apartment, locking the door behind her. There's no sign of Harry, but she knew he'd be asleep. She heads into the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water, which she drains and then places beside the sink. Making sure all the lights are turned off, she creeps through her apartment and into her bedroom.

Harry's sprawled out on his front in bed, his head nearly falling off the pillow. There's a book precariously balanced in his fingers, looking like it's about to topple to the floor any minute. All anger she felt at him dissipates. Her exhaustion takes over and all she feels is a rush of gratitude; gratitude that he's alive, he's here, he's with her.

She quietly changes into her pyjamas and then prises the book from Harry's fingers. Bending down in front of him, she feels irrational and inexplicable tears well up in her eyes. With a gentle touch, she brushes the hair over his forehead to the side then presses a soft kiss to his lips. He stirs, inhales deeply and cracks open an eye.

"Hey," she whispers.

"How was the scene?" he asks, his voice rough with sleep.

"Horrible," she tells him, a tear spilling down her cheek. " I'm sorry about earlier."

He reaches out a hand to cup her cheek, brushing away the snail trail with his thumb. "I'm sorry too."

She presses her lips to his palm before standing up and climbing into bed. Harry rolls over so that he's facing her.

"I didn't tell you about Daniella's call because I didn't want to hurt you," he mutters, sleep already beginning to reclaim him.

"I know," she nods, her hand finding his under the sheets. "But knowing about it wouldn't have hurt me. You not telling me, that's what hurts."

He gathers her up in his arms, pulling her close and holding her tightly. "You _know_ me; I'm not good at this relationship stuff. I'm trying so hard to get it right for you, but all I seem to do is screw up."

"Harry," she says gently. "You haven't screwed anything up, believe me. I'm happier with you than I have been in a long time. You're doing it right, okay?"

He kisses her hair. "Okay."

"Now go back to sleep," she instructs. "We've both got to be at work in a few hours."

* * *

**Next chapter: _Eggnog_**


	11. Eggnog

_Second one for today. Well, technically now it's tomorrow. _

_I know these are all a little below par, but I did kinda rush them a bit so that you could have them sooner. I also have some more angsty one shots up my sleeve that I hope to publish sometime next week. :)_

_Thank you so much for all the reviews, PMs, and tumblr messages. I never expected this fic to go down so well. You're all little phenomenal darlings. _

* * *

**Eggnog:**

"This Christmas party trumps last year's Christmas party!" Leo shouts over the sound of the corny music. Harry nods exaggeratedly at his boss before turning to Nikki.

"I think we need to keep Leo off the eggnog."

"What are you talking about?" she gasps. "This stuff is goooooooood."

He looks at the plastic cup in her hand. "Maybe we should keep you off it too."

She ignores him. "You know, maybe if you had some you wouldn't be in such a foul mood."

"I'm not in a foul mood! Besides, I can't drink I'm driving us home later."

"We can get a taxi like everyone else here."

"I am not spending twenty quid on something I can do myself for free. Besides, when your feet are aching because of those heels and you've had so much of that eggnog that you can't even stand, you'll be thanking me that I stayed sober enough to carry you to the car."

He smiles smugly, satisfied by his argument. Nikki, however, merely rolls her eyes. "You're a bundle of laughs tonight."

"It's been a long day," he deadpans.

"All the more reason to enjoy yourself!" she grins, grabbing his hand. "Let's sneak into a corner and make out. I'll chew some gum and you won't even be able to taste the eggnog."

He nearly laughs at her inebriated state. Happy drunk Nikki is one of his favourite things. "As appealing as that does sound," he grins, "I don't think it's wise."

She sighs laboriously. "You used to be more fun. You're boring now. Probably because you're about to turn forty."

His eyebrows shoot upwards. "Excuse me? Boring? I am not boring! I may technically be thirty-nine, but as you have told me many times, I have the mentality of a teenager."

"That's not a good thing."

"Tonight it is," he declares. "Give me the goddam alcohol."

Snatching the cup from her hand, he downs it in one and winces as the hot liquor burns his throat. "Good lord! What is in that, hydrochloric acid? This isn't what eggnog used to taste like back when I actually was a teenager, I'm sure of it."

"Way to be cool, Harry," she giggles.

Ignoring her, he flourishes a hand in her direction. "My lady, are you dancing?"

A beaming smile settles on her face. "Are you asking?"

"Nope, telling."

He grabs her arm and drags her into the middle of the room, where several others are awkwardly dancing to a variety of the classic clichéd Christmas songs that seem to be played on loop this time of year.

"I bet you were quite the dancer at all those Cambridge parties, weren't you?" she teases as he leads her into an empty spot. "I mean, get you on the ice and you're Liza Minnelli."

He glares at her. "I'll have you know that I picked up many a girl with my dance moves. Oh yes. I knew them all. The electric slide..."

Releasing her hand, he takes a couple of steps to the right, then the left, then backwards, before sliding forwards to meet her. She laughs loudly as he grins at her. "Any others?" she asks, eyebrows raised.

"You mean like ... the robot?" he says, his arms going up as he performs a few jerky movements. "Or pulling the rope?" He slides sideways along the floor, his hands gripping an imaginary rope in front of him. "I was even a master at the Macarena."

"Oh my god," she giggles as he does the routine, laughing helplessly when his hands go first to his hips, then his chest, before he jumps one hundred and eighty degrees on the spot.

Other people have started to stop their own dancing and watch now, and it isn't until one of the interning lab techs walks past with his thumbs up and says, "That was awesome, Doctor C.!" that Harry stops. He flushes a slight shade of vermillion, looking relieved when the fast number ends and a slow song begins to play.

"Now we dance properly," she smiles, taking his left hand in her right one and placing the other on his shoulder. He places his hand around her waist, holding her close.

"Boring, eh?" he grins.

"I take it all back," she laughs. "You were a treat to watch."

"I think I've done my back in. God, this eggnog goes straight to your head. Who made it?"

"Leo did, I think."

They both look over to the corner, where Leo appears to be arguing with the DJ.

"He's going to be all right, isn't he?" she asks, biting her lip nervously.

"Of course he is. He's coming to us for Christmas Day, right?" he replies. Nikki nods and Harry adds, "Well then stop worrying. We'll keep an eye on him."

Looking somewhat assured, she smiles and kisses him gently.

"We're definitely getting a taxi home, by the way," he says a minute later. "That eggnog is horrifically moreish."

* * *

**Next chapter: _Cider_**


	12. Cider

_Another quite loose use of the prompt. It started off reasonably well, then I digressed somewhat and got a little ... carried away. _

_This rather pushes the boundaries of the 'T' rating. Enjoy. ;)_

* * *

**Cider:**

"Here, Nikki, try this."

Nikki places down her book and looks up as Harry enters the room carrying two mugs.

"What is it, and why do I want to try it?" she asks shrewdly. Usually, in Harry's case, the words 'try this' end up giving her a stomach ache.

"Mulled cider," he tells her, his eyes on the rather full mugs as he slowly walks towards her. "It's a warm, spiced, festive drink."

She pulls a face. "After Friday night, I don't want to see alcohol ever again. Particularly of the festive kind." She briefly wonders if it's possible to still have a hangover two days after the consumption of the offending liquor.

A smirk creeps across his face as he places the mugs on the coffee table. "I made it, you have to try it," he argues. "Besides, the alcohol content is very low. I wasn't going to get hammered at ten a.m. on a Sunday. Now try some. Please."

She picks up a mug and blows gently on the hot surface. Harry's eyes are somewhat unhelpfully fixed on her, as if he's waiting for a reaction. She sips the hot liquid, but immediately dislikes the taste. Wincing, she pushes it back at him. "I don't like cider warm. I don't even like it cold that much."

Harry pouts with the air of a petulant child. "Well _I_ like it."

"Good for you," she smiles, returning, once again, to her novel.

After ten minutes of silence, in which Nikki reads and Harry fidgets, occasionally drinking his cider (she suspects he doesn't like it either, he just doesn't want to admit it), he sighs pointedly. At first she ignores him, but when he shifts closer and does it again she snaps her book closed, smiles at him sweetly, and says, "Yes?"

"I'm bored."

She tuts. "You're such a child. Why don't you clean the kitchen? Or do some of that paperwork that you've got building up? Or start writing that research paper you were thinking of doing?"

He thinks for a moment then pulls a face. "Boring. I could think of something we could do..." Lightly, he drags his fingers up her jeans-covered leg.

An irrepressible shiver tickles her spine, but she buries her nose further in her book and says, "I'm trying to read."

He snatches the book from her hands, tossing it into the coffee table. She tries to look outraged, but fails miserably when he grins and pushes his mouth against hers. As his tongue trails over her bottom lip, she makes a contented noise in the back of her throat.

Her fingers glide up his body until they come to rest in his hair and she tugs him closer to her until they're essentially horizontal on the sofa. He moans as she hooks a leg around his waist, pulling him down on top of her. Kissing ferociously, her hands start working on the buttons on his shirt, just as his slip under her top.

Their legs become tangled and together they roll off the sofa and fall with a thump to the carpet. "Ow," he utters when he bangs his head on the leg of the table, causing her to laugh throatily.

She trails kisses across his jaw, down his neck, and along his collarbone until she extracts a soft groan from him. He pushes himself into a sitting position so that she's straddling his lap, and, his hands splayed across her bare back, somehow managed to get to his feet. She squeals in surprise, her legs wrapping tightly around his hips, but his strong arms steadily hold her in place.

He staggers forwards and it's obvious that he's trying to see where he's going, but she's having too much fun and refuses to let him, instead deciding to tease his bottom lip with her teeth. She drags her mouth across his cheek and to his ear, where she whispers, "Do you love me?"

"No, I just like you a lot," he murmurs, his hot breath tickling her neck.

"That's a shame. I was going to make you show me," she breathes, her finger tracing the muscles in his back.

Through gritted teeth he asks, "Show you what?"

"How much you love me. Will you?"

And then everything changes. There's a shift in his demeanour, his expression. Momentarily abandoning his failing attempt to make it into the bedroom, he slams her into the nearest wall. She gasps, a shiver of pleasure crawling up her spine.

He locks eyes with her, his gaze fierce. "That all depends," he whispers. "Do _you_ love _me_?"

She wants to say something meaningful, something to tell him how much she really does love him. However, whether it's due to his ministrations on her burning skin or that look in his eyes, all she manages is a strangled, "Yes."

But he seems satisfied by this answer. Kissing her hard and hot and fast, he pulls her away from the wall and into the bedroom, until they eventually collapse onto the bed.

They come together in a desperate wild passion. He isn't gentle and she doesn't want him to be. She knows she's going to have bruises from where his fingers are digging into her soft warm flesh, and she knows she's going to be sore later because he isn't exactly holding back. But she leaves her mark on him too; her fingers drag up his back as she desperately attempts to hold on to her sanity.

Did she not trust him so completely, did she not care for him so deeply, she would be scared by the hunger and desire and need she sees in his eyes and feels in his touch. But the hot words he whispers in her ear only serve to feed her own passion, her own need for him.

She falls apart beneath his rippling body, stars bursting on her eyelids as a pleasure so intense it almost inflicts physical phantom pain rips through her. He forces her to meet his eyes at this point, his expression raw and honest and intense. It both shocks her and sends a shiver of something infinitely sweeter than lust throughout her body.

A while later, when they're sated and exhausted and sore and tangled up in the sheets and have finally regained their breath, she rolls onto her side and looks at him. He's staring at the ceiling, a little dazed. "That was..."

She giggles. "The best yet."

"The best _ever_," he amends, turning his head to grin at her. His eyes travel down her arms and land on the small red marks at her wrist. His grin turns into a small smile of puzzlement and then a frown of crashing realisation. She knows what's coming next and when he speaks she's proved right. "I did that to you, didn't I? Dammit, I was so rough and I didn't even stop to... Did I hurt you?"

"Believe me when I tell you that you did _not_ hurt me," she smiles.

"But your arms..."

"Have you seen your back?" she counters. "Look, I'm not made of glass, Harry. I'm not going to break at your touch. That was good, okay? That was _so _damn good." She shifts closer to him and gently captures his lips in her own.

"Are you sure?"

She sighs. "Yes. Ask me again and I'll hit you."

"Kinky." His grin returns and he gently tugs her down. She giggles softly and collapses onto him, every muscle in her body feeling shaky and abused. He exhales contentedly. They settle into an easy silence for a few minutes, before he adds, "Want some cider?"

* * *

**Next chapter: _Peppermint_**


	13. Peppermint

_I'm not especially pleased with this one, but you're having it anyway because I'm trying to catch up. I also realise I labelled the previous chapter incorrectly and called it 'peppermint'. It is now changed and I apologise for any confusion. _

_Thank you so much for all the reviews, you flawless creatures. _

* * *

**Peppermint:**

In typical Monday morning fashion, Nikki isn't in a great mood. She sighs sadly as she watches a six year old girl say goodbye to her beloved grandmother. Sarah, her name is, the little girl. Cute as a button, dark hair cascading in curls down her back, piercing blue eyes and an inquisitive little frown that seems to be permanently knitted in her brows.

It had been the scene of her grandmother's death when Nikki had first met Sarah. The little girl and her dad, Steve, had discovered the lifeless body on one of their weekly visits and Steve, a single parent, had been so distraught when Nikki had arrived that Sarah was left looking lost and alone in the kitchen.

And so after her initial findings had been made, Nikki had taken it upon herself to sit at the table with Sarah for a while and talk to her. She didn't know if what she said had made any difference, but the young girl had obviously taken a shine to her; for when she saw her again at the Lyell a couple of days later as Steve was filling out paperwork, she had pounced upon Nikki, asking her question after question about what she did in this big building, what was going to happen to her Nan and so on.

And now, a week later, she was back to say goodbye, far less excitable but just as sweet. Nikki watches from outside as Steve kisses his mother on the forehead and Sarah tightly holds her arthritis-swollen hand.

Five minutes later and they are heading back to the office with Nikki.

"I'd like to thank you, Doctor Alexander," Steve says as they walk. "You've been a wonderful help at our hour of need."

"Just doing my job," Nikki replies self-effacingly. They've reached the office now and she smiles at Harry, who's sitting at his desk observing them.

Steve stops walking. "I don't believe that anywhere in your job description does it say 'console grieving child'. But you did it anyway. Which is why Sarah has something for you."

Nikki's only just started to humbly protest when Sarah hands her a small jar full of small brown and white sweets.

"Peppermint creams," Sarah grins. "Me and Daddy make them every year. They're lovely, like you." And with that she throws her little arms around Nikki's middle.

A tad overwhelmed, Nikki hugs her back, returning Steve's self-deprecating smile. "She gets very attached to people," he says, slightly apologetically.

"She isn't the only one," Nikki laughs. "Thank you so much for these. Have a great Christmas. And you have my number should you have any questions about anything."

Steve nods, then tugs lightly on the hood of Sarah's coat. "Come on, you little monster. Let Nikki get back to work."

Sarah waves brightly as they head towards the door that a lab tech is holding open. "Bye, Nikki! Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Sarah," Nikki smiles, waving until Sarah has disappeared round the corner. Still smiling, she returns to her desk, where she carefully places the jar of peppermint creams beside her computer.

"He seems nice."

Starting, she looks up at Harry's words. There's something in his expression that she's seen many times before, and it causes her to inhale deeply. "Don't start."

He's immediately defensive. "Well, he does."

"He is."

"You said he's got your number. Should I be worried?"

He says it lightly, jokingly, but she can hear the sour edge to his words and immediately flushes with anger.

"If you really trust me that little, then we have serious problems," she snaps coolly.

"Of course I trust you," he says, leaning forward on his desk a little. "It's him I don't trust..."

Outraged, she stares at him furiously. "Are you kidding me?" she hisses, throwing a cautious glance towards Leo's office. "He is a grieving single father who has just lost his mother! I'm fairly certain that dating someone is the last thing on his mind!"

Harry snorts, looking down at his desk, and mutters, "I never said anything about dating."

She scoffs loudly. "Oh please. Just because you have the insatiable libido of a pubescent boy, doesn't mean all men do!"

He laughs humourlessly. "Yes, it does."

At that moment, the doors buzz again and the same lab tech allows Steve back into the office.

"I'm so sorry, I forgot my scarf," he says apologetically, hurrying over to the table and plucking it from one of the chairs. "Sorry."

Nikki stands and walks over to him. "That's fine, you weren't interrupting anything, believe me." She throws an angry glare in Harry's direction.

"Actually, Doctor – Nikki. There was something I was going to ask you..."

She smiles at him. "Anything."

Suddenly, Steve looks rather uncomfortable. He bounces slightly on the balls of his feet for a moment and then blurts out, "I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me sometime?"

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Oh. Oh! Um, Steve, you're a lovely guy but-"

"She's already seeing someone," Harry says loudly, marching over and tightly wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Steve's eyes widen as Nikki shoves Harry away and says, "I am, I'm sorry."

A red blush creeps across Steve's face. He brushes away her apology, fiddling with the end of his scarf. "It's my fault, I should have asked first."

"I really am flattered," she tells him gently. "And believe me, I'm finding it very difficult at the moment to find a reason to say no." Another furious glance in Harry's direction.

"It's fine, Doctor Alexander," Steve smiles. "I'd better go, Sarah's waiting in the car. It was – it was very nice to meet you. Both of you."

"Likewise," Nikki says genuinely.

As soon as he's gone she rounds on Harry. "You're such a bastard! You could have been a bit nicer to him."

"You just don't like me because I was right," he smirks, and she hits him on the arm with the back of her hand. He smiles, but he's still looking at her strangely. She sighs as she realises why.

"You didn't have to come and rescue me then. I would have said no. I love _you_, Harry. If you recall, yesterday we had the best sex ever. Why would I swap that, swap _you_, for anyone else? You're an idiot and infuriate me and sometimes I could just – urgh!" She throws her hands up in frustration, takes a deep breath and adds more softly, "But you are _my_ idiot."

He smiles at her, a proper smile this time. "I know. I'm sorry. Of course I trust you."

"Good." She heads back to her desk and unscrews the lid of the jar, offering it to him. "Peppermint cream?"

* * *

**Next chapter: _Gingerbread_**


	14. Gingerbread

_I really didn't know what to do for this one, which is why this is the only one you're getting today I'm afraid. I was stuck on it for ages. So it's not very good and it's a little OOC, but c'est la vie. Hope you enjoy it anyway. It's only harmless Christmas fluff, after all._

* * *

**Gingerbread:**

Harry's in the kitchen cooking pasta when Nikki returns, laden down with shopping bags. He abandons the saucepan and rushes to take some from her.

"Good god, woman. Did you buy everything in the supermarket?" he quips, carrying some of the extraordinarily heavy bags into the kitchen and placing them on the worktop.

"There's only ten days until Christmas, Harry. If I don't get it now then there won't be anything left to get," she explains, out of breath and flustered from the exertion of the shopping.

He returns to the stove to stir the pasta but continues to watch her as she starts to unpack the bags. "Wow, you're really going all out," he observes. "There's enough there to feed three hundred people, never mind just the three of us."

She shrugs. "This year's different. We're together now and Leo's single... It just feels different. I just want it to be really special." She looks up at him. "You know?"

Smiling, he steps towards her and gently kisses her forehead. "Yeah, I do. You're amazing."

Pointing behind him, she says, "Your pasta is boiling over."

He hurries to turn the heat down, leaving it to simmer as he helps unpack. A laugh escapes him as he reaches into one of the bags. "Oh, what the hell is this?"

Initially looking puzzled, she grins when she sees what he's extracting. "It's a gingerbread house!"

Harry looks at the creation; it's as large as a toaster, decorated with fancy icing and brightly coloured sweets. The whole thing is wrapped in a clear cellophane bag and tied up with a festive ribbon. "Dolls could live in that," he remarks.

"It's really lovely, isn't it? I didn't know whether to get the slightly smaller size, but then I thought: it's Christmas, why the hell not?" she smiles.

"I haven't had gingerbread since I was a child," he says wistfully. His fingers go to untie the ribbon keeping the bag sealed, but her hands slap him away.

"I bought it for Christmas Day," she admonishes. "And it's going to stay that way."

"You can't tell me I'm not allowed it," he complains. "Now I want it even more."

"Child," she mutters, reaching up to put something in the cupboard. When she catches him looking at her pleadingly she adds sternly, "I mean it, Harry. You eat it, you replace it. And it cost a lot of money."

Harry was right about wanting what you can't have. Much later that night, when Nikki's gone to bed and he's watching one of his war films that he loves so much and she despises so intensely, his mind starts to stray to the gingerbread house. The pasta they had for dinner, although nice, wasn't very filling and now his stomach has begun to growl. He glances into the kitchen, where he can just about see it from his position on the sofa, pushed to the back of the worktop because apparently Nikki's bought so much food the cupboards are overflowing.

Pausing the dvd, he gets up and quietly heads into the kitchen. He pulls the cellophane bag containing the house towards him, then stops and stares at it.

The chimney, he decides, have been very precariously put on. Really, it looks like it's going to fall off any minute. And surely if it was to fall off, he couldn't be to blame? He'd be doing the house a favour. A loose chimney is just untidy looking.

Suddenly very interested in the glasses in the cupboard above him, Harry reaches up and takes one. On his way back down his elbow very precisely knocks the chimney, causing it to roll down the roof of the house and then get wedged between the wall and the bag. "Oh no," Harry says sarcastically. "Would you look at that?"

Carefully and precisely, he tugs on the bow until it becomes unravelled. Then he opens the bag, reaches inside, and plucks out the chimney. Consisting of four gingerbread biscuits held together with icing and adorned with 'snow', it looks delicious. But it's the smell that makes Harry forget that he shouldn't be eating it. He's just about to put it into his mouth, when-

"I knew it!"

He jumps like a criminal caught red-handed and spins around to discover Nikki glaring at him, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

"You couldn't have just waited a couple of weeks?" she asks him exasperatedly.

"No," he admits with a slight smirk.

"It's not funny!" she protests, but her lips are also twitching.

"Just the chimney, Nikki, come on. It's not like you can even notice it's missing, look!"

She sighs. "Fine, but you have to split it in half."

Surprised, he frowns and says, "Wow. You gave in quickly."

A slight flush creeps across her cheeks. "You've already broken it off now. Not much I can do."

Harry releases a loud gasp of realisation. "You didn't come out to check on me! You came in here to get some for yourself!"

Her face twitches and it looks like she's waging a furious internal battle, before she finally admits, "Fine! The smell has been haunting me since I picked it up! I'm a weak, pathetic hypocrite, I know."

He laughs loudly. "I can't believe you!"

"Just give me half of the damn chimney."

Still grinning, he breaks the biscuit in two and hands her a crumbling half. "No more than this though," he says seriously. "You're right; we should keep it for Christmas Day."

"Let's just hope Leo doesn't notice the missing chimney."

* * *

**Next chapter: _Presents_**


	15. Presents

_Gah, I'm still so behind on this! I'm trying my hardest to catch up, I'm just so damn busy lately. At least you're still getting at least one a day. Just the wrong one. ;)_

_Thank you so much for continuing to stick with it. More Leo in this chapter, because he's been conspicuously absent in the others._

* * *

**Presents:**

Leo sighs wearily as he attempts to finish his paperwork. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closes his eyes for a moment and thinks. Thinks about Janet, about Christmas, about what a sad lonely old man he is.

Looking up again, he spies Harry and Nikki walking into the office. They're arguing about something, squabbling and snapping at each other. He can't hear what they are saying, but their harsh body language is pretty indicative. He's just wondering whether he should go out there and intervene when all of a sudden they stop fighting and start to laugh. Baffled, Leo watches as Harry lightly kisses Nikki on the lips and they both sit down at their individual desks.

They never ceased to amaze him. Even before they properly became a couple, their ability to be raging mad at each other one minute and then laughing and joking the next would leave him bemused and completely lost.

"Leo, you have to help me."

He looks up at the sound of Harry's voice. The man in question furtively glances over his shoulder to make sure Nikki had left the office and then rushes into the chair on the opposite side of Leo's desk.

"Help you with what, exactly?" Leo asks warily.

"I have absolutely no idea what to get Nikki for Christmas," he blurts out.

Leo raises his eyebrows. "You've never had this trouble before."

Harry scoffs. "Somehow I don't think a scarf is going to cut it this year, Leo!"

"Why not? She always wears the scarves you give her. Why should you have to get her something that's bound to be over the top just because you're together now?"

"_Because_ we're together now!" he insists. "She means the world to me, and I want to show her that."

Leo smiles placatingly. "I'm sure she knows."

"That's not really the point, is it?"

"Look, Harry, nothing is going to be wrong if you've put a lot of thought into it," he says gently.

"That's easy for you to say. What are you getting her?" Harry asks.

"Perfume," Leo responds, thinking of the neatly wrapped present on his table at home. "Why don't you get her jewellery?"

Harry pulls a face. "Naff. And she's very fussy."

"All right, a CD?"

"Oh, okay! And I'll get her that cassette tape to go with it! Leo, no one listens to CDs anymore."

"Slippers?"

"Seriously? What are you, eighty?"

Leo frowns reproachfully. "Theresa used to give me a pair of slippers every year. And Janet."

Snorting, Harry says, "I rest my case."

With a sigh, Leo shrugs. "Then I don't know what to suggest."

Harry gets to his feet. "You are no help at all."

"You're welcome," Leo calls after him as he leaves.

It isn't until late afternoon that he gets a visit from Nikki. Harry's out at a crime scene and he watches her pace the office for a while before she finally knocks on his door.

"Leo, can I talk to you for a minute?"

He nods and she comes and sits in the seat Harry vacated just a few hours hours previously. "What's the matter?"

She bites her lips nervously. "I don't know what to get Harry for Christmas."

Repressing a smile, he says, "You've never had this trouble before."

"Yeah, I know. But this year's different. There's been this massive shift in our relationship and it seems appropriate that it should be marked with a really nice Christmas present - but I have no idea what," she grumbles.

"You've only been dating, what, three months?" he reminds her.

She sighs. "Leo, we've been dating for eight years."

"Well then, I'm sure he'll be pleased with whatever you get him."

She flushes slightly as she says, "I do have one idea, but it's only something small, not a main present."

"What's that?" Leo asks curiously.

"You don't want to know," she assures him.

"Of course I do! Unless, it's not the same thing you got me?"

Her face goes beetroot red as her eyes widen and she exclaims, "No! Definitely not! Oh god, no. It's sexy lingerie, Leo! For me, but - y'know, for him."

Leo pulls a face. "Oh I did not want to know that."

"Told you."

"Let's move on, shall we?" he says quickly, before the mental image in his brain can become any more disturbing.

"Well what did you get him?"

"A tie," Leo informs her.

She thinks for a moment and then says, "I could get him that DVD boxset of those war films he was admiring the other day."

"You could," he nods.

"Or a really nice jumper..."

"Definitely. Who doesn't love a jumper?"

"Perhaps a trip to see a West End show..."

"I'm sure he'd like that," Leo smiles.

But Nikki frowns and then says, "Oh god, I can't give him any of those. They're all rubbish."

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll think of something."

She stands up. "Yeah... Thanks, Leo."

"You're very welcome," he smiles as she leaves his office.

Much later that night, when Harry is curled up in bed with Nikki, she asks him, "What are you getting Leo for Christmas?"

"Slippers," Harry responds sleepily. "Why?"

"I can't decide... By the way, one part of your Christmas present now comes with a very disturbing anecdote that I can't wait to tell you," she giggles.

"Oh god. I think I'd rather you didn't."

"Just wait until Christmas Day," she tells him, settling down further against his chest.

Sarcastically, he says, "I'm on the edge of my seat."

* * *

**Next chapter: _Fireplace_**


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